


Careful Caresses

by pocketsfullofmice



Series: Avengers_Tables: Kink [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Ageplay, F/M, Looner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:25:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketsfullofmice/pseuds/pocketsfullofmice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'I like them,' he finally said. He meant to say it casually- “hey, I like balloons, they're fun, that's why I asked for a whole room of them!”- but it came out thin, nervous. Hey, I <i>like</i> balloons, they're <i>fun</i>, <i>that's</i>  why I asked for a <i>whole room</i> of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Careful Caresses

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Avengers_Tables](http://avengers-tables.livejournal.com/) kink table. 
> 
> This is really weird, but I wanted a challenge. My Russian is also quite rusty (heh heh), so I apologise for glaring errors.

Two weeks before his forty-third birthday, Tony yelled out across the workshop to Bruce, 'what do you want for your party?'

Bruce looked over his shoulder at him, gave a laugh, and turned back to his laptop. He shook his head, even though a smile danced on his lips. 

'I don't need a party.'

He heard Tony move about, the sound of him setting a heavy object down, picking up something else. Even then he knew the subject wasn't going to be dropped. Bruce had never been the sort of child to become overly excited about his birthday, and as he grew older, it became just another day on the calender. He imagined it had something to do with being born seven days before Christmas; people were far too excited about that day then his birthday. It didn't bother him any more.

'Nah, c'mon, we need to do something. A giant cake? Peppermint icing? Booze? Boobs? Seriously, just a pair of floating boobs, we could- _I_ could- do that.'

Bruce chuckled softly and kept typing. 'A room full of balloons.'

'What?' He heard Tony stop in his tracks. He could picture him turning, looking at him sceptically.

'I'd like my room to be filled with balloons.' 

He said it casually, and honestly without much thought. He expected Tony to push him about it, to get him to repeat it or describe it further. He knew Tony would do as he asked, but he still anticipated some sort of questioning. But instead he heard Tony give a noise of acknowledgement and the next half-hour passed in silence until Tony complained about hunger and Bruce got up to pee and they proceeded to have a half-hearted argument about whether to order Italian or Mexican (they wound up eating Cambodian and both silently agreed that neither enjoyed it all too much). 

So it didn't really surprise when he came home one night after working in a SHIELD lab some two weeks later to find his bedroom filled floor to ceiling with balloons. The music was loud and somebody had brought a cake and several balloons were smudged with icing that were bouncing about the room. He saw Thor licking some icing out of his hair, while holding a balloon delicately in his other hand. Clint handed him a drink and Tony pulled him into a hug, half-drunk with a grin nearly reaching his ears.

'Best idea!' he announced, slapping him on the back. 'I knew I loved this guy. Didn't I tell you Pepper? Loved him. Almost as much as I love- '

And Pepper shut him off there by handing him a bottle of water and wished Bruce a happy birthday. He just smiled, tentatively sniffed his drink (just Coke, he realised happily. He didn't drink, and Tony knew that, and it was nice to know that even as he got lush he remembered that the Other Guy had a hangover worse than Bruce) and sipped it. At that point Steve came up to him, a little put off, probably from the noise and crowded room, and handed him a present- a large box of different types of tea. He pressed it to his chest, thanked him, and quietly said he was welcome to leave if the noise got too much. Steve just shook his head but Bruce could still read the relief on his face.

He bumped into Phil, who was sitting on his bed. He was still pale and tired most days, but his grin still had that vaguely amused look about it, as though he knew some highly embarrassing secret about everyone in the room. Thinking about it, he probably did. They chatted, clinked their plastic cups together and Bruce started to make his rounds. Thor hailed his year of survival a success (a fact that Bruce agreed with) and Maria shook his hand in the strange, stilted manner that so many SHIELD agents had. He ran into Hank Pym and Richard Reed, who he'd been wanting to meet most of his academic career and never had a chance to. He recognised several other faces, but most were people he'd never met. It didn't bother him. He appreciated it, actually, as he took it to mean Tony was taking it upon himself to get him friends.

At some point during the evening, he found a balloon tied around his wrist by a long, silver ribbon. He laughed and bobbed it around. Tony, no doubt completely drunk but still articulate and happy, leant heavily against him and tugged it.

'Happy birthday, buddy,' he said loudly and just a touch slurred. He kissed Bruce on the cheek, causing him to laugh a little uncertainly. 

After he was able to wrestle away from Tony (who called out to Phil and handed him a large tumbler of something or other), Bruce bumped his way through the balloons, a large portion of which had popped by now, and to the small attached bathroom. The door was unlocked so he didn't think twice as he entered, some balloons bouncing in as the door opened. He was still laughing quietly, head down as he kicked the balloons out of the way to shut the door.

'Jesus Christ, what're you- '

Bruce yelped, accidentally slamming into the door and causing it to shut. Natasha was there, neatly done up in a crisply ironed blouse and slacks, standing by the toilet. Immediately covering his eyes, he turned away, hand to the door knob.

'I'm sorry, the door was unlocked, I didn't think- '

'I wasn't doing anything,' she said curtly. Bruce turned- the lid was down. 'I was just looking for a little privacy.'

'You could just leave. I wouldn't take offence. I don't know half the people here, anyway. Two thirds. Four fifths. I think Steve's left already, anyway.'

'Clint would know. He'd follow.' 

'Is that a problem?' Bruce was lingering by the door, just to be on the safe side. 

His hand twisted around the ribbon tied to the balloon, causing it to bounce and knock against the door. Natasha's pale eyes flickered up to the balloon and then down at the ones that Bruce had unintentionally let in. Some were filled with helium, others with just plain air. Looking at the one attached to the ribbon around his wrist, he held it out to her. She stepped back, and although there was no obvious change in her features, she didn't look as exceptionally calm as she normally did. Just a dart of her eyes, her nose screwing up the slightest bit, her weight shifting from one leg to the other and causing her hip to jut out. Bruce brought his hand back to his side.

'Is something- '

'I don't like balloons.' 

Bruce widened his eyes a little. He looked up at the helium balloon, then down at the ones bumping around his feet. He gave one a gentle kick and it bounced across the tiles towards Natasha. She took another step back, her dangerously high heels clacking on the floor. Rubbing the back of his neck, Bruce bent and picked up one of the balloons. 

'You don't like balloons?' he repeated, confused and, admittedly, amused. Sure, he knew people who were afraid of balloons popping- his mother, for one. But this was Natasha Romanov, super scary secret spy. The only thing he knew her to be afraid of was the Other Guy, and Bruce couldn't fault her there. 

She shook her head. Her eyes never left the balloon that was rocking back and forth. 'нет.' _No_.

His brows lifted at that. He had a rough understanding of Russian, having spent a few months in Kharkiv as he eventually made his way to India (which hadn't been his destination of choice. It was more of a situation of, try to avoid Hulking out, and when he did, move to the next location). But Natasha didn't speak Russian to him, or anyone, really, unless the mission required it. So to hear her say it in Russian threw him a little.

'What, is it the popping?'

She started to shake her head and then stopped. Bruce could swear she looked, well, a little embarrassed. It dawned on him that she probably never told anyone, possibly not even Clint. If she was holed up in here it was a good chance.

'It's the sound,' she said. 'It... gets under my skin.'

Bruce eyed her. She looked as though she was going to say more but didn't. Very slowly, Natasha sat down on the ledge of the bathtub. The whole room was pure Stark; too-white porcelain, ruby coloured towels, bright, fluorescent lightbulbs. Bruce tugged the balloon down to stop it from getting too hot and bursting. He could see Natasha watching him out of the corner of his eye, judging every move. The tension was hitting him in the chest, and as much as Bruce wanted to slip out the door, he felt rooted to the spot.

'I like them,' he finally said. He meant to say it casually- “hey, I like balloons, they're fun, that's why I asked for a whole room of them!”- but it came out thin, nervous. Hey, I _like_ balloons, they're _fun_ , _that's_ why I asked for a _whole room_ of them.

Natasha just stared at him. 'I can tell.'

'I didn't mean for the, uh,' Bruce jabbed his thumb at the door. 'I mean, hey, it's Tony, but... maybe a few on the floor, maybe bouquets- do they call bunches of balloons bouquets?- but, uh...'

'You don't need to explain it to me,' Natasha interrupted. Bruce was grateful for it.

Swallowing, mouth suddenly dry, gummy, he nodded. Clearing his throat, he nodded to the door and turned the knob. He had just started to open it when Natasha's voice cut through him.

'I like ribbons.'

He turned, stopped, looked at her. She was standing, back perfectly straight, that perfect ballerina poise Clint had once told him about. She clasped her hands in front of her.

'Ribbons? Like- ' He waved his hand with the ribbon attached. 

Natasha shook her head. 'Hair ribbons. Thick ones. Like Alice in Wonderland.'

'Oh.' 

A little put off by Natasha's sharing, and unsure how to take it, Bruce nodded. Finally opening the door, he kicked the balloons out of the way, back into the room and shut the door behind him.

Tony had fallen asleep in his bed next to Phil.

*

Bruce wasn't as bad as Tony about forgetting to eat. The Other Guy had a ravenous appetite, and Bruce often wound up setting an alarm to remind himself to go and find something to shove in his mouth. It also meant he got a break from his work, which in turn meant a change of scenery. The kitchen was good for that, with its wide, glass walls and plenty of natural light flooding the room. On a clear day he could see all the way to the bay. He was also typically left alone, and while it did get a little lonely, if his nerves were frayed from challenging work, it meant he could calm down.

Company was always appreciated, though, and company that day meant Natasha. 

'We should go out.'

Bruce lowered the spoon to the bowl of cereal he had been eating. He chewed slowly, using the time to wonder if he'd missed the first part of the conversation. 

'I'm sorry?'

'We should spend time together,' she clarified, stepping to stand in front of him on the opposite side of the table. 'We should go out somewhere.'

'Where?'

Natasha had already turned away from him. 'You'll figure something out. But make it fun,' she added after the barest hint of a pause.

And so he had wound up ignoring his work for the rest of the day in exchange for pondering about Natasha's demand. It hadn't been a request, that much was clear. It was an order, an expectation that Bruce would follow through with it, and that it would be what she wanted. And maybe it was a challenge. Natasha didn't open herself up for anyone, and their interlude at the party had no doubt only been set off by being knocked off her feet by the balloons. She was asking- telling- Bruce that she was relatively okay with that.

So he struggled the rest of the day with the quandary. She had revealed so little and yet so much. What had she said? _I like ribbons._

Ribbons.

Ribbons implied youth and freedom and happiness. They represented spontaneity and chaos and escape.

He found her that night and asked her to keep the weekend free.

*

They went down to Luna Park. Bruce hadn't been to an amusement park for nearly a decade. Hell, it was probably more than that. He'd never had a real desire to go, not since his late teens, and these days he was hyper-aware of all the potential damage he could do if his anxiety peaked. He didn't put up a fight, though, when Natasha paid for his ticket and guided him around the park with a hand on his elbow. He realised quickly he had an advantage over her in this regard- Natasha had never been to an amusement park before, and although she never hinted towards, he could read the slight twist in her lips and they she swayed side to side as they waited in line that this was all very new.

Bruce slipped his hand around her waist. He half expected her to pull away, to maybe snap at him that they weren't _like that_. Instead, she released her grip from his elbow and settled her hand on the strap over her bag. He could have sworn that she actually leant into him. He took her to Lynn's Trapeze and handed the card over. They waited in silence, watching the people on the ride spin around, listening to the cries of glee that rang out. When it was their turn, he led Natasha to an outside seat and sat next to her in the inner ring. He knew his limits, what would draw the Other Guy out. Besides, this had been his favourite ride as a child. He watched Natasha as the ride started. Her face was pinched, brow furrowed in concentration until they started to spin. She didn't laugh, didn't cry out as her hair was whipped back, as the other riders did, as Bruce did. 

However, she did turn to him. Her eyes were wide, a touch red from the wind blasting them. She swung her chair out, spinning, until she could grab hold of the chain that Bruce's hung from. She knocked into him, and as she did, he saw it for just a fraction of a second: an honest smile. After that, she opened up a little. She went from ride to ride, trying to coax him onto each one. The only other ride Bruce agreed to was the Brooklyn Flier, as that was so similar to the Lynn Trapeze. They investigated the Scream Zone, and Bruce stood back, sipping a Coke as Natasha went on the Zenobio, the Boardwalk Flight, the Steeplechase. Her was face was flushed afterwards, her hair a mess that she continued to smooth back as she sipped the Coke Bruce offered her. 

They wandered through the park, Natasha buying a bag of pink cotton candy and a balloon. She held the balloon on the ribbon with some hesitancy, out to the side as Bruce led her to a small patch of grass. He took the bag of cotton candy from her, opening it and offering it. Natasha looked at it, then the balloon, and went about tying it around his wrist. Without a word, she took the bag from Bruce and went about picking out pieces of cotton candy, holding pieces of it between her thumb and index finger. Bruce looked up at the balloon. Lazing back on the grass, he bobbed it up and down, watching it sway with the movement.

'Did you have fun today?' he asked her. He wondered if she'd turn around, ask him what fun was; if she'd be serious or sarcastic.

'Yes,' she replied, after a pause. The bag rustled as she pulled some more spun sugar out.

They lazed there for the better part of a half hour, until Bruce sat up and Natasha finished most of the cotton candy. She headed off to wash her hands and mouth, and Bruce waited, bobbing the balloon. She returned soon enough, hair smoothed, fingers clean from the pink sticky mess that had clung to her. They wandered from the park and caught the subway into the city. Natasha chose when to hop off, and Bruce followed quietly, the balloon still floating from his wrist.

As they walked along the streets, Bruce noticed a small store. It was a garish shade of pink, and when he glanced in the window he saw mounds of plastic, tacky jewellery, the kind that would appeal to preteen girls. Bruce paused in his step and cocked his head. Nudging Natasha, he silently lead her in. As expected, there was a rack of ribbons towards the back of the store, in different lengths and colours. Some had prints of rainbow butterflies, others of flowers. Some had stripes, others spots. Natasha watched as he ran his hands over them, before choosing half a dozen, in pink and blue, white, green, purple and yellow. They took them up to the counter. As Bruce pulled out his wallet, Natasha began to talk to the young woman behind the counter.

'Do you have any barrettes to go with these?' she asked, with the smile Bruce recognised that she used when going undercover. 'Preferably cats.'

The young woman nodded and guided Natasha over to a stand. Bruce hung back a little uncertainly, flicking his wallet open and closed. The two returned promptly enough, with a packet of cat-shaped barrettes. Natasha asked his opinion and Bruce nodded, humming in approval, although he really had no idea what else to say. 

'Our daughter's in hospital getting her leg pinned,' Natasha said, her voice soft, a hint of worry edging it. 'We thought we'd go and get her a few treats before we get to see her. She loves Luna Park,' she said, nodding to the balloon still bobbing against Bruce's wrist.

'Oh, the poor thing,' the cashier said. 

'Visiting hours are three to eight,' Bruce said, unsure what else to do. 

Natasha chatted to the woman, feigning concern and annoyance the way a young mother normally would. Bruce paid, nodding along, and taking the bag when it was handed to him. They left, Natasha leaning against him and murmuring quietly in Russian as she poked around the bag until they were several feet down the road. She quietened almost immediately, pulled away and hailed a cab. 

The drive took longer than Bruce expected, and he wasn't all too certain where they were going. The sun had exhausted him a little bit, and he sat with his head against the back of the seat, face to the ceiling. As they drove, the car rocking side to side a little, wanting to doze, balloon against the ceiling. Natasha's presence next to him was comforting. Although he knew she was dangerous, a trained killer, he felt as though he could let his guard down. They were mutually afraid of one another, after all. So he sat there, aware of her beside of him and unmoving. He didn't quite fall asleep but he did lull into a quiet calm. It took him a moment to become aware of the taxi stopping, the exchange of cash; Bruce was in a daze when he exited, holding the small plastic bag full of goodies for their imaginary daughter.

The sun had started to set. They were in Central Park; families mulled about, walking slowly, enjoying the cooling air, the colours dazzling across the sky. Neither of them were in a hurry, but Natasha seemed to know where she wanted to go, so Bruce let her lead. He took in the atmosphere, looked over the expansive greenery, the snow that hung to some of the stronger branches in the trees, the long shadows dancing over the ground, Natasha's cold hand in his own. The balloon bounced about on the other side, swinging above his head.

They stopped by the Alice in Wonderland sculpture. Natasha turned to him, a brow raised. He nodded and she stepped towards it, uncertainly and cautiously at first, as though she was waiting to be called back. Then, with one leg raised, she stepped up on the smallest mushroom, then the one beside it. It didn't take long for her, then, to figure out how to reach Alice. Grabbing the top of the bronze girl's head, she swung herself around and up, perching carefully on top of Alice. Bruce laughed.

'Take a photo!' Natasha called, her words filtering through a laugh.

She stayed crouched as Bruce dug around for his phone. Pulling it out, he held up a finger until he set up the camera. As soon as he had, Natasha stood up, and, ever so gracefully moved onto her tiptoes and dragged her other leg up slowly, toes brushing her calf and knee until it was extended fully in the air. Her hands came above her head, face turned upwards to catch the dying sunlight. Bruce was by no means a photographer- he envied those who could take simple scenes and turn it into a work of art- but right then he wished he had something more than just a phone camera.

When the picture was taken, Natasha slipped delicately off of Alice and skipped down the mushrooms. He offered the phone to her, but she ignored it, not even seeming to acknowledge what had been done. They walked through the park in companionable silence, Bruce holding Natasha's little finger and letting her lead once again. He didn't think they were going anywhere in particular until they came to a thicket of trees. It was starting to get dark, and while Bruce didn't become suspicious (if Natasha wanted to kill him, she would have done it long ago. Location wasn't a necessity), he did hesitate. It had grown cold with the setting sun.

There was a small slope leading to the trees. Sitting down a few steps down the incline, she motioned with her head for Bruce to come over. He did, and instinctively handed the plastic bag over to her. She took it, pulled the ribbons out, and handed them to her. Bruce hadn't really braided before. Back before... everything, he had had a few friends with daughters and he'd given it ago at the coercion of their parents. His fingers had struggled, though, thick and unwieldy. It was much the same now, but at least Natasha's hair was still short, just brushing beneath her shoulders. He thread the ribbons through, the colours striking against the rich red of her hair. The ribbons trailed down to her shoulder blades, curling at the ends. He slid the barrettes into her hair, some near her temples, others at the top of the small braids. 

They silence stretched between them, Bruce tracing the ends of the ribbon, his knuckles brushing over Natasha's back. He followed the dip of her spine with his thumb to the top of her shirt. She turned, the ribbons twisting and twirling. The kiss wasn't much of a surprise. It was slow, with more tongue than Bruce was used to, but it had been so long since he'd been touched like this that he responded with keen enthusiasm. Natasha's hands were on his waist, clutching at his shirt, and with a few tugs she had him further down the slope, to the start of the thicket. The balloon followed, bumping along.

'Call me дорогая,' she said, breath hot in his ear. _Dorogaya_.

He repeated the word, unsure of what it meant, but Natasha fluttered her eyes shut and kissed him again. She crawled onto his lap, and suddenly her mouth was everywhere, pushing Bruce back and rucking his shirt up. The ground pushed into his back, and he stared up at the balloon, wavering over his head. Running his hands over Natasha's body and settling on her hips, he watched as she wriggled out of her pants, one pant leg caught on her shoe, the other dangling between them as her now-bare toes pressed into the grass.

'Дорогая,' he whispered in her ear.

The sex wasn't the best he'd ever had. The ground was hard, stones bit into his tailbone, the grass wet in the seat of his pants. It was hard to move, and Natasha's knees were digging into his sides. But it had been so long since the last time he'd had sex- his celibacy being partly self-enforced but not entirely- and he didn't fight it. His head lolled on the ground, eyes open to the balloon above them. It wobbled back and forth, a beacon to their illicit activity, but Bruce couldn't quite bring himself to care.

'Дорогая,' he repeated, a little louder.

'Bозлюбленный,' she replied. Bruce attempted to echo and she laughed, breathlessly. _Vozlublenney_. 

Bruce wasn't sure if and when she came. He touched her, fingers working, and he tried to follow her noises, breathless moans and sighed cries. But it had been so long, and Bruce also mildly wondered if perhaps Natasha, as well, had lost the ability to totally lose herself to sex. But he came, head back and a silent moan coming from him. His eyes locked on the balloon wavering above them, followed its movements as he shuddered against the grass.

Very carefully and after several breaths, Natasha disentangled from Bruce and slowly went about pulling her panties and jeans back on.

'Sorry- I don't have anything to clean- '

Natasha loved. 'Not the first time, Banner.'

As Natasha redressed, Bruce redid his slacks up and untied the knot around his wrist. He held the balloon on its string between two fingers and then let it go. It flew up into the sky, slowly, the helium already having started to dissipate. It was caught up in a breeze and disappeared over the trees, fading from view. When he turned back to Natasha, she had her back to him, brushing dirt off her foot and putting her shoe back on. Without a word he reached out and started to readjust the ribbons in her hair, tightening the knots and repositioning the barrettes.

Cleaning themselves off, Bruce pocketed the plastic bag and waited for her to finish up. Heading back up to the path, they started back to the exit of the park. The silence was easy, as it had been the whole day, and he eventually worked the courage up to put his arm around her waist again. They exited the part right before the gate was locked for the night, and Natasha hailed a cab once more. As they made their way through the city, she slowly pulled the ribbons and barrettes from her hair and reverently laid them on her lap. Bruce took each one and slipped them in the plastic bag.

Stark Tower was as quiet as it ever got when they arrived back.

*

It was always a gamble when the Other Guy came out. Not just because of his destructive nature, the millions of dollars of damage that was bound to occur. It wasn't just that, though that did play a large part in deciding whether to let Bruce come along or not. The other factor they had to take into consideration- and sometimes the more dangerous, unsettling part- was what side of his personality would come out. The Hulk was a child, essentially, in terms of how he viewed the world. People could be his best friends one minute, but he could have a violent temper tantrum the next. The only person he ever seemed to be somewhat fond of was Thor, and that seemed to be primarily due to Thor being able to hold his own in a fight. That didn't mean Thor was capable of calming the Hulk down if he was in a horrendous mood, but a twisted, menacing grin would form over his green, scarred lips if Thor did something impressive.

Despite the mood swings they did need him. Even if it was like a flip of a coin in terms of which side of his personality they'd meet that day, they needed the Hulk's strength, his surprising dexterity, his durability and stamina. Bruce hated being left out, anyway; not because he wanted to necessarily be part of the action or to join in the fight due to some kind of bloodlust, but because he felt like a dead weight otherwise. He wanted to contribute, he wanted the load of fighting to be shared equally. He didn't want to be coddled and kept aside. So when Carnage started wreaking havoc across the city and Spiderman cried out to SHIELD for help (god, Bruce wondered why that kid did it all on his own sometimes), the team jumped in.

Of course, the New York City police were already at the ready, guns firing at the monstrosity that was clambering up the side of an office building. With one monster on the loose, it was only inevitable the sight of a second- and one was notorious as the Hulk- would illicit fear. The firing shots didn't necessarily come as a surprise to Bruce, but for the Other Guy they were aggravating.

The pain radiated up his arm and to his shoulder, a hot burn that licked at his shoulder blade and collar bone. The Hulk let out a bellow. Not much got through his thick skin, tough and fibrous all over like scar tissue, but when things did, it was amplified. There was little Bruce could do but sit back and watch the world go flashing by. He was clambering up the side of the skyscraper Carnage was already on, trying to chase after him. Spiderman was higher up, trying to lure him higher and higher, where both Iron Man and Thor could grab him with minimal risk to the people below. Captain America and Black Widow were both inside the building, while Hawkeye was monitoring from a building off to the side, reporting their progress and firing an arrow to weaken the monstrous creature. 

Getting a grip on a window ledge, the Hulk threw himself up in the air. Bruce felt the wind whip at his face, at the short shag of hair atop his head. He wanted to shut his eyes or cry out, but his control was minimal and he doubted he'd be listened to, anyway. As he flew up in the air, he watched as Carnage smashed a window, leaping through right as the Hulk's large, oversized fist reached for him. A roar of anger and frustration came from deep inside him. Swinging his arm around, he smashed his fist into the wall, creating a large hole for him to clamber into. Hooking his hands around the exposed floor, he threw himself over the edge, shattering part of the wall as he did.

Behind him there was a thrum of noise as Iron Man swooped down. His voice was like static as he spoke, a sound that irritated Hulk at the best of times, but the slippery red creature had gotten away.

'Hulk- get out of there, we already have- ' 

Grabbing a piece of rubble that had fallen from the wall, the Hulk tossed it, shattering glass as it spun towards Iron Man. Despite the force of the throw, Iron Man tumbled out of the way gracefully and with ease.

'Pesky metal man- ' the Hulk roared, intending to continue on. His hurled abuse, however, was cut off by a dull boom further into the building, or the shrill, high pitched buzzing that followed.

With surprising ease and deftness, he spun and started towards the source. Any corners that happened to be in his way were quickly turned to nothing but rubble. The doors went next, the lumbering, giant, green man making a beeline for the source of the noise. Things like doors and walls were just a hassle to walk around. It was painful, and Bruce knew his hands would be aching sorely afterwards, but to the Other Guy, it was nothing. They were akin to mosquito bites and nothing more.

Despite the speed he was racing at, the Hulk didn't miss the sight of Carnage. He dug his feet in, the floor giving way a little as he skidded to a stop. He didn't miss the flash of pale skin and shocking red hair, either, or Black Widow's tight suit that was a contrast to the blood red of Carnage. Her Widow's Bite was attached to Carnage, the faint static ringing in his ears again, but it appeared to be doing little to stop him.

The Hulk hated the sound of static.

Carnage hissed, a horrible, shuddering sound, as the Hulk stomped forward. The Widow's Bite was still emitting electricity, zapping as Carnage pulled and twisted. A tentacle lashed out and twisted around Black Widow's middle, while a second wrapped around her arms, pulling her shoulders back and together. With a sharp-toothed grin, Carnage hissed again, another tentacle heading towards the window and smashing it. Glass shattered, some landing on Black Widow who bit a noise of pain. 

'Maybe next time, big guy,' he snarled.

The electricity was still humming. Black Widow was kicking, the faintest suggestion of fear finally forming on her features. The noise of electricity was starting infuriate the Hulk more than the skittering red monster. He stormed forward, huffing, eyeing off the thin, red line that traced up to Black Widow's wrist.

 _Carnage first, Hulk, Carnage first!_ Bruce pleaded, helplessly. He didn't know how the Hulk would take the 'first' to mean, and if that meant Natasha could be second.

Carnage started to run, tongue lolling between his sharp teeth, ignoring the glass on the floor. With a horrendous bellow, the Hulk lurched forward. Black Widow was on Carnage's back, still writhing about. She had managed to loosen the tentacle around her arms, but the one twisted about her waist was still firmly locked in place. Her teeth were grit, dirt and sweat on her features. 

'Oстановить!' Natasha panted out. She wrangled one wrist free, poised to point it at Carnage but she stopped when she saw Hulk racing up, eyes narrowed with anger, teeth bared 'Hет!'

The Hulk grabbed them in one hand. Carnage twisted, letting out a loud wail. Before he could react, The Hulk had ripped him off of Natasha, a sickening crunch coming from one of the tentacles. Carnage screeched, an unearthly sound that was worse than static, worse than the thrum from the Widow's Bite. Furious by the noise, the Hulk threw him. He misjudged the angle, and Carnage's shoulder hit the wall, another cracking sound coming from him. But he was out the window, still screeching, loud and high-pitched. 

'No more!' the Hulk yelled out the window.

Before he could see Carnage hit the ground, there was a pain in his arm. It didn't hurt- in fact, it was more of a buzz than anything else- but given his current anger, it caused him to snarl. Natasha had her Widow's Bite embedded in his forearm, all the while trying to squirm free from his grip. She froze for half a second when he snarled at her, his upper lip curling. Bruce could see through the Hulk's eyes the terror in her expression, the paling of her features, the sweat on her brow, dirt and blood mixed together on her cheek, chin and neck. Her breath had caught in her throat, her fingers digging into the side of Hulk's large hand. She pushed up, straining. In turn the Hulk squeezed a little.

 _No! She's a friend, a_ friend _!_

Bruce didn't know if the Other Guy could hear. They had minimal access to one another's memories and thoughts. Bruce could sense some of the Hulk's thoughts, primarily the heightened, passionate ones like anger and pain. He prayed the Hulk could hear his own in turn. His panic and fear of the Hulk harming- killing- Natasha.

 _Let her down!_

For just a moment there was a flicker. A flash of red entered his mind, the touch of soft skin. A hint of freshly cut grass, the tug of a ribbon around his wrist.

_Friend!_

Slowly, almost impossible to tell, the Hulk's grip loosened. Natasha was panting, still straining against his grip, and when it loosened far enough she tumbled out. She flipped over, lithe, her gymnast training coming through. Her gun was out, pointed up at him. He stared at her, teeth still bared. They were frozen in place, Natasha, poised with her weapon and the Hulk with his fist out, ready to strike.

The memory of a balloon passed through Bruce and the Hulk's shared memory.

'Little red.'

Natasha didn't move when he spoke. Her gun stayed raised, aimed directly between his eyes. Her feet steadied, her breath slow. The whine of the Widow's Bite had stopped, soothing the Hulk's nerves a little. Her teeth grit, her brow narrowed. The cut on her cheek had stopped bleeding, but there was a gash on her waist, where the tentacle had cut her suit and skin, was weeping. 

The Hulk lowered his arm, hand opening up from a fist. Natasha didn't lower her gun. It reminded Bruce of their first meeting but reversed; Natasha terrified of the monster within but the human exterior. Now it was the faintly human action that threw her, and not the green, monstrous form.

There was a pounding down the corridor. Natasha barely moved but the Hulk gave a loud growl as Steve came spinning around the corner. His shield was raised but when he saw Natasha and the Hulk, he lowered just a fraction. 

'You weren't answering,' he said, his tone suggesting he was just a little bit peeved. His eyes flickered between the Hulk and Natasha. 'How are we?'

Natasha stared at the Hulk, her lips pursing together. Her shoulders relaxed a little and she lowered her gun infinitesimally. 

'Yeah,' she said. 'We're good.'

*

SHIELD agents managed to corral the police officers away from the block, thanking all of those that were on duty for their service. There were complaints, as there always were, about damage and responsibility for payments. Fingers were pointed at the Avengers, with only a few people pointing out that if super villains weren't a problem then there wouldn't be a need for superheros. Bruce ignored most of it; he had been in the SHIELD medical centre that night, having his fingers bandaged. Natasha had stayed on the helicarrier for several days longer, though Bruce didn't ask her why.

He returned to his lab. His lab was familiar, normal, controlled. His fingers ached for the rest of the week, and although the doctor had assured him they weren't broken, that didn't mean they didn't hurt like hell. Given his tendency to lose himself, he avoided painkillers and only took half the recommended dosage when he did. The pain eased up and by the end of the week he could move his index and middle finger without shocking pain radiating up his arm.

Tony emailed him pictures of his birthday party, which seemed months earlier. He clicked through them slowly, taking in each image. In every picture he was in, he seemed dazed, looking at the balloons as though they were fireflies or faeries. Selecting a few images, he put them on a USB drive, intending to print them out and frame them. He'd keep them in his travelling bag; pictures took up space, but he always kept them on him.

He was putting the USB aside when he heard footsteps behind him. He didn't need to turn to know it was Natasha; the footsteps were light, but deliberate. She only made noise when she intended to. Resting his arm on the back of the chair, he gave her a faint, soft smile.

'The cut's healing well.'

A long slash ran up the side of her arm. It had been bandaged up, but it had been removed that morning. The skin was still pink, and although it would scar in places, it would be minimal.

'I wanted to thank you.'

Bruce stared at her, thrown for a moment. He withdrew his arm from the backrest on the chair and slowly swung the seat around so he could face her properly.

'I'm sorry?'

Natasha didn't thank people, at least as far as Bruce was aware. Especially in this regard, Bruce saw no reason for her to thank him; they were on a team. They looked out for one another. He would have done the same for anyone, just as he expected- or hoped- they would do the same for him. 

She swung her weight onto one leg, her hip jutting out. He eyed her carefully; she didn't seem uncomfortable, but from what he had learnt to read from her, the simple movement was the only sign she ever gave of not being wholly in the moment. It was as close as she got to being awkward, or at least expressing it. He took it to mean she was choosing her words carefully. Perhaps she had prepared them earlier, running them through her mind and then repeating them. 

'Or rather, I wanted to thank... the Other Guy.' 

_Oh._

'You would have escaped,' he replied. He didn't want to be dismissive of her gratitude, but he didn't want to be dismissive of her, either. He truly believed Natasha would have freed herself from Carnage's grasp. The Other Guy had just... hastened it.

He took the smile forming on her lips to mean she took his words as intended.

'Yes, I would have.' She stepped closer, and rested her hand on the back of the chair where Tony tended to work. Bruce wondered if she was going to sit, but she remained standing, her hip jutting out. 'But... he deserves some credit. Or you do. Do you- '

'I like to think of him as a separate entity,' Bruce interrupted, kindly. 'Despite what Tony says.'

Natasha nodded. For a fraction of a second, Bruce swore he could see relief on her face. She continued to stand by the chair, her hand wrapped around the back, her lips pursed tight. The tension between them wasn't uncomfortable so much as it was apparent. Bruce turned slightly in his seat and took hold of the USB, letting it dangle from its chain.

'Tony sent me some photos of the party. I was going to some printed off. You, ah, you interested? In coming with me? To get them printed off,' he added, with the haste of a man who never knew the right words to say when asking someone to spend time with him.

Natasha took a moment to reply. She lifted her head and turned to squint out the window as she considered the offer.

'The doctor told me to take some time off to let my arm heal. I also pulled the back of my thigh. He said to relax.'

'Oh.' Bruce wasn't entirely surprised with the answer.

'There's a place, between 9th and 10th. They sell a decent pecan pie. I like pecan pie,' she added, when Bruce just eyed her blankly. 'There's a party supply store just down the way from them.'

It was then that Bruce realised she was dressed to go out. Natasha, like Pepper, was always neatly put together. Casual for her was still remarkably dressed up. And while he didn't have much of an idea of what differentiated her usual attire from that which meant she intended to head out of the house, it was an overall sense. He turned slowly back to his laptop, saved the document he was working on and closed it. He slipped the USB into his back pocket, explaining in the process that he needed to find his wallet, and probably his phone, as Tony had a tendency to call him and ask bizarre questions, but he became annoyed when Bruce didn't answer.

Natasha was holding the ribbons in her hands. She must have dug them from her pocket when his back was turned, Bruce dully realised. She had her arm stretched between them, the thin, pink cut zig-zagging up her arm catching the light. Bruce hesitantly stretched out for them, but she snatched her hand back and held them to her chest. Right. Not yet. Not until Natasha had had her pie and they'd picked something up from the store. She shoved them back into her pocket and turned, silently heading to the elevator. Bruce followed, a few steps behind. She waited until he had caught up with her, and as the elevator doors opened, she gestured for him to enter first. He did, though not without a moment's hesitation.

She didn't follow immediately. He held the door open, and watched as she rocked her weight from side to side, head tilted ever so slightly.

'Come on, дорогая, we don't have all day,' he said, attempting a chiding tone as he tripped over the word. He still didn't know what it meant.

Natasha's laugh was more of a snort as she entered. She took the ribbons from her pocket and shoved them into Bruce's; he could take the lead from here.


End file.
